The Day The Music Died
by Scarlet Child
Summary: After retrieving a cursed pipe from their latest hunt, Dean is forced to forever speak in an old English accent.
1. Chapter 1

The Day The Music Died

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Rating: T, for the occasional swear words.

Summary: After retrieving a cursed pipe from their latest hunt, Dean is forced to forever speak in an old English accent.

© Scarlet-Child

* * *

"This is _wonderful_. This really is." 

If he hadn't been so preoccupied with the three-inch long gash on his forearm, Sam Winchester might have cracked a smile at his older brother's sardonic statement. Instead, his lips performed a half-amused, half-pained smirk as he sank into the Impala's leather interior.

Dean shot him a look from the driver's seat.

"You okay?" he asked, dropping the sarcasm in his tone.

Sam nodded, despite the fact that his arm felt like it was about to drop off. It was rare that his brother showed concern on his brother's behalf, and it was even rarer that he allowed him to sit inside the impala while he dripped torrents of blood onto the floor.

"There's a box of Kleenex in the back," Dean told him, as he steered the car out of the woods.

"Yeah."

Gingerly, Sam removed his right hand from the wound. He regretted it instantly, when another rush of pain surged through his arm. He groaned, leaning his head back against the seat.

Dean took one hand from the wheel to inspect his younger brother's arm.

"It's not too deep," he muttered.

Sam wrenched his arm from his older brother's grip.

"Not too deep? Are you serious?! It almost ripped my arm off!"

Dean cast him a wary look, turning his attention back to the road.

"It'll be fine. Just throw some Savlon on it."

That was Dean's outlook on life: if it bleeds, throw some Savlon on it, and everything will be a-okay.

Sam groaned, and tossed his head back down to the wound. It was then that he noticed that he was clutching something in his left hand.

"Do you want me to …"

Dean noticed the hesitancy in his tone.

"What's wrong?" he asked automatically.

Sam placed the frayed sack onto his lap.

"It's nothing…" he muttered, "Just the bag we picked up from the demon."

Dean snorted.

"Oh great… a souvenir from our fantastic battle with the kleptomaniac demon."

"We could sell it on e-bay," Sam joked.

Dean shot him a side-glance of amusement.

"See, I told you it's not that bad. The Savlon's working."

"I didn't put any on, Dean," Sam replied, annoyed.

To take his mind off of the blood gushing from inside his arm, he began to rummage through the sack with his free hand. Surprisingly enough, Dean didn't stop him. In fact, he seemed rather interested in finding out the contents of the bag.

"What's in it, Sammy?"

"Junk," he replied sourly, releasing handfuls of rusted objects into his lap. "And it's Sa -"

"Is that a mouth organ?" Dean cut him off, plucking the instrument from his lap.

"Watch out," Sam warned him.

"Why?" Dean taunted him, "It's not like it could be curse me into playing the _blues _forever."

To prove his point, he blasted on the organ. Sam resisted the urge to cover his ears with his injured arm.

"Actually, I was referring to your continued use of my childhood nickname and the consequences that will follow if it doesn't end," he shot back.

Dean grinned.

"Whatever," he replied, and then winced.

"What?"

"Whoever used that thing last was deprived of modern day mouth wash… that's disgusting..."

Sam grinned and fiddled through the assorted objects of the sack, most of which seemed completely useless, like the shoehorn and rusted whistle. While inspecting a vial full of a bubbly substance, he accidentally knocked a trickle of it onto his arm.

"_Argh_..." he winced, as it burnt his wound.

His eyes fell upon the pile again, and that was when one of the objects caught his attention.

"Hey…" Sam said softly, picking up a wooden pipe from the mess. It was unusually small for a pipe, painted black and gold, with silver dots decorating the sides.

Dean snatched the object from his hand as they rolled to a stop.

"Hey! That's my pipe!" Sam protested, "And why did we stop?"

His question was answered by the glittering lights of the motel's carpark. Dean yanked the door open, and Sam soon followed suit, taking the sack with him. The brother entered the motel together, Dean fixated by the pipe.

"Dude, stop staring at it. It's just a pipe."

Dean didn't respond.

"Don't even think about smoking it. It looks ancient. You'll get lung cancer from one puff."

There was still no reply.

"Look," he said, after handing the woman at the counter a few rolled up bills from within his jeans. "Let's just get some rest, okay? Maybe we'll wake up tomorrow and my arm will be miraculously healed. And _maybe _you'll feel like answering me."

* * *

Rays of light peeked through the blinds of their motel room. Wondering what had disturbed his slumber, Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

Looking down at once-injured arm, his jaw dropped

"Dean!" he yelled, "Look! The gash's gone!"

A small grunt followed his statement. Sam, not sure whether to be shocked or amazed at his newfound discovery, looked up to find his brother sitting in a chair in the corner. The pipe they found was in his mouth, and he had a very dazed, and uncharacteristically cheery expression upon his handsome face.

"Dean…? Are you okay?"

Dean plucked the pipe from his lips, his face breaking into a grin.

"Of course I am, my dear brother! Say, do you fancy joining me for a smoke? You'll have to obtain your own pipe, I'm afraid; I seem to have just the one on me!"

* * *

What do you think? Should I continue?

And I should probably point out that I don't actually know any old English slang, so if you happen to be fluent in it, please don't criticize my pathetic attempt at it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Thanks a bunch to Winchester13, Wait-For-Sleep, Maze2010, jjackles, blink182rule, Lamae, ItsaMiracle & PuReLoNeHeArT for their positive reviews. I was a little unsure of posting this, especially since all of my old supernatural fics were ripped apart by copycats, but now I'm glad I did (:

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

* * *

He couldn't help it; as soon as the words left his brother's mouth, a look of absolute horror sculpted onto his handsome face - Sam burst into laughter. It was uncontrollable; he laughed until his mouth hurt from smiling and his stomach felt like it had been pelted persistently with a sledgehammer. It had to have been the funniest line he had ever heard, and it was made twice as funny by the fact that _Dean _had just said it. Dean, his tough, shotgun-bearing, demon-banishing bad boy of an older brother had just spoken to him an _English accent._

Sam, who had fallen over in hysterics, pushed his chin up onto the side of his motel bed. Dean was still sitting in the corner, staring at the pipe as if it were a bomb. Sam's grin widened when Dean turned to him, his brown eyes widened in fear.

"What – what the _deuce_?"

That was all it took to set Sam off again; he was down on the floor, crying tears of laughter. A loud creak from the corner suggested that Dean had finally left his seat. Sam could only see a dark shadow before him, his eyes were blurred and he was finding it difficult to stem the flow of tears.

"Samuel!" Dean cried.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Samuel!"

"HAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Suddenly, Sam felt a fistful of hair being yanked from his head.

"_Ow_ – ow – Okay, Dean, I'm sorry!"

He winced, pulling himself up off the floor. He leant onto the bed, trying as best he could to wipe the smirk from his face, lest he lose half the hair on his head. His voice had perhaps altered, but apparently his attitude hadn't.

"It isn't so funny, is it now?" When Sam dared to open his eyes again, he found his brother's face only a few inches from his. Sam instinctively drew back, which proved to be rather difficult when half of his hair was being jerked in the other direction. The only other time Sam had seen that look on his Dean's face was the time when he had convinced his brother to take a break from driving, only for Dean to discover that three-and-a-half minutes after Sam had demanded the keys, he had crashed into a mailbox and dented the hood of his precious Impala. Needless to say, Dean was extremely pissed.

The memory itself made him chuckle, which he regretted instantly. Dean yanked harder.

"Dude!" Sam yelped. "I said I was sorry."

He pulled the most innocent look he could, holding his hands up apologetically. Dean let go of him almost reluctantly. Sam fell back onto the bed, pushing his hair back.

"Well…" he said after a pause. "It was good for a laugh Dean, but let's get serious now. We need to figure out what happened last night… I mean… my arm...! It was bleeding everywhere last night, and this morning… not even a scratch…" He brushed his fingertips over where the wound had been only hours before. It was just so surreal… If he hadn't been so sure that his arm had been torn open last night, he might have considered the possibility that it was just a dream. A strange, realistic and extremely painful dream.

When he received no reply from his brother, he looked up. Dean was standing in the same spot, the same shocked look on his face.

"Dean?"

Slowly, Dean looked up.

"Samuel…" he said, appearing horrified. "I don't… what the deuce is happening to me?"

Sam cracked a grin, but it wasn't a grin of hilarity like before; it was more like his usual sardonic, you're-not-as-funny-as-you-think-Dean smile. In any case, he thought he would go along with the transparent joke and see where it was leading. Or if it was leading anywhere. Knowing Dean, it was likely to be the latter.

"Why, my dearest old brother, I do not know what thou art speaking? Perhaps, if you spoke yet a more coherent branch of English I would understand what thou art saying?" he kidded.

"Your evident joviality at my misfortune irks me," Dean frowned.

In all of his twenty-two years, he had never heard his brother utter a single intelligent sentence. And considering he spent most of his teenage years hunting down demonic spirits with their dad, instead of completing his english homework as he should have, it really wasn't much of a surprise.

Sam's grin faded.

"… You're not joking, are you?"

* * *

Sorry, its so short, but im currently in the middle of writing four english extension essays before Monday. Updates will most likely be delayed. 


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